The son of Alcmena the champion of fable
Who strangled a viper while yet in the cradle:
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The chief who rush'd bold thro the Granican flood,
While the Fates, pale with fear, on the shore trembling stood.
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The word ladies use tho their bosoms cry yes,
When the lads, saucy fellows! their suits fondly press:
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And the sage whose great soul rang'd thro ether on high
Scan'd ev'ry far planet and measur'd the sky.
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The realm which fair Freedom has called her own,
Where her standard high waves o'er her deep-rooted throne,
Where the maidens are constant & faithful the swains,
And the cadence of rapture is rung o'er the plains.
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The region where goodness and virtue will soar
When earth with its tinsel, and time are no more.
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The season of visions with terrors unfolding
And the skies' fierce virago perpetually scolding.
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The Queen of Egypta Mark Antony's bane
At once both the pride of the sex & the shame.
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The prince of the fairies that fanciful sprite
Whose empire begins & decays with the night.
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What the sweet girl I love can bestow if she please;
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And the tree whose soft branch is the emblem of peace.
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That passion ecstatic which unites & combines
In a center delightful susceptible minds --
Which arouses to fury -- and lulls to repose --
As keen as the thorn, yet as sweet as the rose.
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The author of Shandy, all laughter & glee
Whose pencil from gall was forever kept free:
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The mountain where Jove as recorded in story
Sat wrapt with his eagle and Juno in glory!
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And lastly the beveridge which up-above people
If poets sing truly eternally tipple.
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